Heart of Straw
by HowlynMad
Summary: Jonathan is being given an experimental treatment. It's his only chance at freedom.. his only chance at sanity. But there's something not quite right about Dr. Hugo Strange... and his motivations. Wayne/Crane slash.
1. Chapter 1

HEART OF STRAW

_After Jonathan has a psychotic break and again becomes the Scarecrow, broken hearted Bruce has no choice but to let the authorities commit him to Arkham, even knowing that it will break him irretrievably. Bradshaw does what he can to help Jonathan but as predicted the confinement in Arkham has rendered the young doctor catatonic. Bruce is inconsolable as he believes it to be all his fault that the incident happened in the first place. It was his job to care for the man and he failed to protect him. _

_A month into Jonathan's stay at Arkham, with his identity now known by the public as being the man who terrorized Gotham as the infamous Scarecrow, Bradshaw calls Bruce with what may be salvation. A new DID treatment by a Swiss doctor who claims that he has a cure for the rare disorder. It's radical and it's dangerous but it's the only chance Jonathan will ever have to be released from the asylum back into society as cured._

_The procedure supposes that the underlying cause of all DID is extreme trauma and that no matter how medicine "manages" the condition the underlying cause will never change, will never go away, therefore there is always a chance for relapse. This doctor proposes that if the original trauma was removed then the patient's personality would develop as it was normally meant to. _

_In the past, the only way to affect memory on that massive a scale would be high level electro-shock therapy, that while effective, is nothing short of a non-surgical lobotomy. The doctor instead advocates precision radio wave bombardment of the brain. It would be targeted at specific memory centers and would erase emotion based memories while leaving knowledge intact._

"How does it work?"

"Well, simply put, facts are stored in a different area of the brain than emotional memories," Bradshaw started, "This procedure removes personal experience while leaving fact-based knowledge intact. If this works as advertised we would be able to wipe away someone's horrific past while leaving their intelligence virtually whole. There would be very little reeducation needed and that would be only in regards to things that need to be reintroduced."

Bruce shifted in his chair. He'd all but given up hope only to have this potential miracle drop into his lap. To say that he was more than skeptical would be an understatement but there were few lengths he wouldn't go to, and had, to try and save Jonathan Crane. He supposed that made him as mad as the Scarecrow.

"The person in essence would re-develop his personality from scratch based on the new memories that he makes going forward. His emotional development immediately after the procedure will be absolutely critical to his recovery. That's another reason why I think this has a good chance of succeeding. Your emotional connection to Crane is the only one he was ever able to forge. If he can bond with anyone, it will be with you."

The potential was staggering Bruce thought. "With a stable foundation instead of a horrific one then the Scarecrow will never be created in the first place."

"Exactly. I'm not saying that this event won't be traumatic for him because it will. He will wake up not knowing where he is or why he's there. He'll know he's Jonathan Crane but he won't know who Jonathan Crane is.. if that makes sense. He'll have to re-learn himself. It won't be easy for him to do all that and still have to come to terms with what he did in the past. But with medication to help stabilize him through it and someone to help him rebuild emotionally then he has a damn good chance."

Bruce's thoughts and emotions were colliding in his head at about a million a minute. Bradshaw was saying there was hope. Something that would help Jonathan become sane. A cure. They could be together. They could have their life together. Bruce's heart wanted to soar from his chest. If it were that easy… and nothing was ever that easy. "What are the risks Allen?" Bruce fought to keep his voice steady.

"I wouldn't bring this to you if I didn't think we had a chance."

He wouldn't be dissuaded, he'd come too far. "But what are the risks?"

Bradshaw leaned back, running his hand through his hair, "I'm sorry to be so blunt but considering how far gone he already is, Bruce, I don't know that anything we do could make it worse. Yes, the risks are significant as they would be with any experimental brain procedure but the benefits if this works is nothing less than a cure for him. A normal life without the remembered trauma that warps his mind.. without the Scarecrow."

There was the bait, now where was the hook. "And if it doesn't work?"

"He doesn't wake up," Bradshaw answered simply.

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut tightly. "And if he does wake up, you're saying he will just, what? Be a new person?"

"No, not exactly. That's what makes this treatment so potentially exciting, not just for treating DID but opening up all kinds of doors for other patients previously considered incurable. The basic essence of what makes Jonathan who he is should remain. There is little actual physical damage to brain matter as with electro-shock. We can target only those areas of the brain that hold emotion based memories. Anything of the day to day of his past will be gone. BUT, fact based knowledge will survive the procedure intact. It's likely that he will still be a brilliant doctor and chemist. Providing that his "re-set" personality still takes him in that direction…"

"I thought you just said that he would still be Jonathan," Bruce pressed.

"He will be. But who knows what he would have chosen for himself if he hadn't been driven by rage, pain, and obsession. He might just as easily have wanted to become an artist or writer."

Bruce breathed a soft laugh. "Forgive me Allen, but take the word of someone who knows Jonathan probably better than anyone, including himself, he wouldn't be an artist. He's too fascinated by how things work, deconstructing and figuring out what makes things tick.," Bruce paused, his voice suddenly thick, "This was my fault. I shouldn't have let the police take him."

Bradshaw reached out and placed a steady hand on Bruce's shoulder. "How would that have worked? Would you have fought against the police to stop them? Think about it. You'd be in prison for aiding and abetting a dangerous fugitive and Jonathan would probably be dead. You did what you had to do, Bruce. He didn't leave you any choice."

Bruce put his head down. He was just so damned tired. "I could have taken him back home with me."

"And what? Wait until he tried to kill you again? Until he escaped and started experimenting on people again? How many more people would die and how much more would you hate yourself because of it? Sending him to Arkham was the only way."

The doctor made it sound so simple. It was anything but. "Yeah? Tell that to him. Oh that's right, he's catatonic, so he probably wouldn't have much to say."

"Bruce…"

"I know, I know. Just let me wallow in guilt for another moment." Bruce's mouth narrowed into a thin line. "All right, this treatment of yours. What will it take?"

"The equipment and the knowledge to use it correctly," he offered succinctly.

"Don't worry about the equipment. I can have that on a plane tomorrow." This was familiar. Getting things like this done was something he still had some control over, Bruce Wayne, billionaire industrialist. This was something that he could do instead of drinking himself into a stupor.

"It's not assembly line stuff, Bruce. There's only one unit in existence."

"Doesn't matter," Bruce stated assuredly. His mind was made up. There wouldn't be anything in heaven or hell that could stop him from moving forward now.

Bradshaw's smile was understanding, "Doctor Strange has actually been in touch with Arkham for some time. He's agreed to take the administrator's position here. He'll be in Gotham within the month. Once he's settled in, I'll oversee Jonathan's treatment myself with him supervising," his tone was reassuring. "Until then I'll make sure that Jonathan is well-cared for and monitor his condition."

"Another month in that hellhole isn't going to do him any favors." And who was to blame for that? But he hadn't had a choice. Jonathan hadn't left him any, Bruce justified to himself.

Bradshaw rubbed his hand over his face, not quite meeting Bruce's gaze. "I don't think he knows where he is anymore. What's really your concern?"

Bruce snorted. "You know what my concern is. This is Arkham we're talking about."

"It's not as bad as it was! We're making changes for the better. And you know I wouldn't let anything happen to him."

"You can't be there twenty four seven. There are people on both sides of those padded walls that would like nothing better than to get a crack at the Scarecrow. I want to pay for added security."

Bradshaw took a deep breath. They'd been dancing around the issue. "People will start asking questions."

He'd had a long time to think it through, back when he and Jonathan had been doing a deadly dance. What would he do to keep what he'd fought so hard for? "I don't care. I really don't. My reputation means less than nothing to me. I already created a media monster to protect my identity as Batman. Finding out that Bruce Wayne has been in a relationship with "The Scarecrow" will keep the tabloids busy for a while, at least until the next scandal catches their attention. But in the end, the more open and normal we present this, the sooner the fervor will die down."

Bradshaw was silent for a moment. Then offered, "I tend to agree. Though I do believe there may be more of a fall-out for you than just being the freak of the week for the paparazzi. You're talking about admitting to feelings for a notorious mass murderer. There will be those that will never accept that." Bradshaw considered, "Do you think putting your name in the same breath with his will alert any of your enemies to your "other" identity?"

Bruce shook his head. "I've been very careful and very thorough. No one sees me as anything more than a dilettante. They'll just think it's another ridiculous phase or a reason to get press. The public will be disgusted and Wayne stock will probably take a dive for a while but it will blow over." He paused, "As for the ones that can't accept it..." He sighed, "I can't help what they think. It may not make sense. I may be crazy. But that's the whole of it. I love him and I won't abandon him. This was not his fault."

"It won't be an easy road," the doctor stated.

His face tightened, "I'm not dismissing what he's done, it was horrific, but he wasn't in control. He's sick and if there's any way we can help him that's what I'm going to do. I want a life with him."

"Then let's make that happen." Bradshaw smiled.

"You mean it don't you. You really believe this could help him."

"I do. You're my friend and I know what he means to you. I wouldn't have come to you lightly, Bruce. I think this could be the right answer for Jonathan and for you."

Hesitantly, Bruce returned his smile.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Bruce walked with his head down, not because he didn't want anyone to recognize him but because he couldn't stand to look at the sickly green walls and the iron doors. Even through the heavy metal doors and padded walls he could still hear the sounds of suffering. There were the tears and fear, the desperation that filled the air and smothered you, it was overwhelming. He hated this place. Bruce took a deep breath. It could just have easily been himself in here, he thought. The anger that had overcome him after his parent's murders had driven him nearly to the breaking point. Some would say that he went a little mad in those years following and he would have to agree. How many people dressed up like a bat and beat criminals into a pulp? Exactly one, that sort of said it all, didn't it.

He learned that sometimes all it takes is one bad day to destroy you. In Jonathan's case, there had been many. Too many bad days for his psyche to endure and he broke. He fractured like glass into something sharp and deadly. Twenty six people were dead by Jonathan's hand. One hundred and eighty nine were unlikely to fully recover from the effects of the toxin. Some would die slowly over time, locked in their own nightmares and locked in a padded cell. There were hundreds more that would continue to suffer effects probably on and off for the rest of their lives.

Guilt threatened to overwhelm him again. All those deaths, all that pain, it was all on his shoulders. He had known that there was always the possibility that one of his enemies would find out about Jonathan and come after them. In his fevered scenarios it was always about blood, revenge, and death. He just hadn't really considered that someone might want to take Jonathan away from him for a completely different purpose. One just as full of blood, revenge, and death… only not Jonathan's.

He still died a little inside. He told Jonathan that he could make it work. He promised. So much for promises. Jonathan had touted from the beginning that it wouldn't end well. First, with threats, that at some point he would try and kill him. Then later, when it became obvious that he wasn't the only one invested in maintaining their strange connection, Jonathan had told him that they would both suffer for trying to have something normal.

Bradshaw turned back to him causing Bruce to come to a sudden halt. "Half an hour?"

Bruce looked to the small window in the heavy door and shuddered. He wanted to push past Bradshaw and grab Jonathan and run just as far from this place as he could go. With his money and influence he had no doubt that they could make it... for a while. But he would be protecting an empty shell. Or worse, he would be freeing a monster to wreak havoc and heap more guilt onto his shoulders. At some point, he would end up in the cell next to his lover's. "Could I have a little longer?"

"Sure. I'll check back in forty five. I know I don't have to tell you to be careful."

"No, you don't," Bruce snapped back. "Sorry."

Bradshaw smiled again and reached out, "We don't know how much he hears or understands so just talk to him. It might help. Let him know that we may have found something to help him."

"You're ok with me telling him?"

"Of course. I wouldn't go into details but whatever hope you can offer him is good. You should have hope too you know."

"I do. I'm just… " Well, if you couldn't tell your psychiatrist what you were feeling… "Scared, I guess." Few things ever scared him anymore but the thought that he might lose Jonathan, lose that peace they'd found with each other was more horrifying than the Scarecrow could ever be.

That gave the doctor pause. "Maybe you should wait to see him. That's not a good frame of mind to be in when you're around him, Bruce."

Bruce shook his head. "It's not like he can play mind games with me now is it. I'm fine. Can I just see him now?"

Bradshaw nodded and using the card key punched in his pass code. The door made a whirring, grinding sound as the lock jolted back. As the door opened, the lighting in the cell rose to high florescent glare. Bruce stepped through the opening and his chest clenched at the sight of his lover huddled in the corner of the small room in a ball. He turned and nodded to the doctor who shut the door with a resounding clang.

Bruce took a deep breath and walked quietly over to where Jonathan lie. He knelt down, reaching out tentatively and brushed the hair from Jonathan's face. The man was heavily medicated but he still started at the touch. "Hey Jonathan. It's Bruce. Can you hear me?"

The man frowned but didn't move. Bruce stroked his face and head lightly. After a moment the man's face relaxed again and he sighed lightly. Bruce watched him sleep. Two years ago if someone had told him that he would be in love with a psychotic super-villain he would have laughed in their face. Their… courtship… had been _rough_ in the extreme but the more he had learned about the young doctor the more he came to realize that they needed each other in a way that might not be logical, might not be sane, but soothed both their demons in ways that no one had ever been able to touch. With Jonathan, he had found peace, and that was saying a lot.

Unfortunately, the peace was fleeting. It was stolen moments caught between violence and insanity. Still, he wouldn't trade those moments for anything. He'd really thought that the situation was tenable. He'd believed that they would be able to work through therapy and it would make a difference. One week off the meds was all it took to prove to him the folly of those dreams. But he hadn't been the one to pay for that romantic delusion. No, twenty six people had paid.

"Jonathan, Doctor Bradshaw has found a new treatment. We want to try it with you. This wouldn't be like last time. This could be a cure. You and I could have a life, better than before, because you wouldn't have to worry about the Scarecrow." Bruce stroked his forehead. "Can you hear me? Jonathan." A flash of blue peeked out from slitted eyes. "Hey," Bruce soothed. "I'm here. I came to be with you awhile."

His lover's eyes were open now and staring straight ahead. There was no acknowledgment that the man had even heard him. Bruce leaned over and tugged him up to a sitting position against the wall. "Can I get you anything? Are you thirsty?" Bruce continued to stroke his face lightly, anything to make a connection. He reached out and turned Jonathan's head and looked into his eyes. They were still so blue you could drown in them but they had somehow lost their intensity. _The lights are on but no one's home, _he thought bitterly. He'd done this by allowing him to be put in this place.

"It won't be much longer, I promise. This Swiss doctor has a new treatment. It will help you." _It has to... for both our sakes. "_You have to hold on awhile longer. He's on his way. As soon as he's here, Bradshaw will start the treatment... and.. you'll get better." Bruce moved up next to Jonathan and pulled him into his arms. "I failed," he murmured. "I made you a promise and I failed." He smiled ruefully, "Of course, you told me what would happen. Repeatedly. You're quite the ray of sunshine. I really miss that sharp tongue of yours, you know." Bruce closed his eyes, "Don't you dare give up. You hear me? You want to hear me say it? After all this time. I know you've longed for it."

Bruce opened his eyes and cast his gaze to the ceiling, "I'm afraid. I'm so afraid."


	2. Chapter 2

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

The next month went by in a blur for Bruce. It wasn't that time seemed to move quickly, oh no, to the contrary time was crawling. Still, he went about his normal activities, as normal as they could be with the press hounding him about his connection to a certain psychopath. It had been brutal with all their intrusive questions about their relationship. He'd had to bite his tongue several times to keep himself from telling them all to fuck off. Then they had moved on to the news that a new treatment was being implemented for "The Scarecrow". Bruce wasn't sure which was worse.

The headlines went _from Playboy Billionaire Dating Doctor Fear and his Pal Scarecrow_ to_ The Cure for Fear? Are We Safe with the Scarecrow Among Us? _Bruce wasn't worried about himself. He'd grown up in the limelight. Jonathan on the other hand.. Would he be able to deal with it or would he shut down again? He couldn't worry about any of that right now. They would deal with what came.. together. But first the treatment had to work. That's where his focus had to stay.

He'd even been patrolling less over the last couple of months. His mind was so "not in the moment" he was afraid he would get himself or some innocent killed due to his distraction. Better to leave the criminals all to the GCPD for the time being. There hadn't been anything big brewing since he's taken down Ras' al Ghul… and the Scarecrow. The respite couldn't have come at a more opportune time.

He spent most of his time with Bradshaw learning everything he could about the treatment, what it involved, what he would need to do, and what he could expect during Jonathan's recovery period. There were so many variables as to what could happen after. Who would Jonathan Crane be after it was done? Would he still be the brilliant, sardonic, man he had once been? Or would he be a stranger? A stranger that wanted nothing to do with Bruce Wayne.. the closer the time came, the more Bruce was realizing that curing Jonathan might mean losing him. There were no guarantees when it came to emotions. Hell, he might not even feel attracted to men anymore.

In the past, Jonathan had been clearly bi-sexual with leanings more toward women. He hadn't really had any emotional attachments to anyone, male or female, before Bruce pushed the issue. While at the time the whole situation smacked of dominance games, Bradshaw, while not exactly approving, told Bruce that forcing Jonathan into the role of a couple had actually helped his emotional state and was probably the reason that he was able to function without violent incident as well as he did, for as long as he did.

Bruce shuddered slightly. Then again it might be safer all around if Jonathan's sexual appetites were completely different. He didn't want to think about what Jonathan had done to some of those women.

The Scarecrow had once told him that he preferred to bed women because they were more easily scared when it came to sex. Men, he explained, were more fun to mind-fuck because they could be broken by the oddest things if you just applied the right stimulus. Listening to Jonathan calmly explain the pros and cons of torture had been one of the more horrible experiences of his life. Then again, finding out that Jonathan had raped five women and two men hadn't exactly been a slice of life either.

It was so crazy to think that he could have accepted that revelation better had it been the Scarecrow that had committed rape. After all, Jonathan and Scarecrow _were_ the same person, but then again they weren't. Everything from the way he moved, to the way he laughed, was completely different. They acted differently and they thought differently. Somehow you just expected the Scarecrow to commit depraved acts. That side of Jonathan made no excuses for what he liked. He reveled in fear and control. That was what he lived for, literally.

But the simple fact was… Jonathan was more of a sadist than his alter-ego.

The Scarecrow had even told him that once. At the time, Bruce hadn't believed him, preferring to think of their division as clear cut. In his mind, Jonathan was the victim, and as such, wasn't aware of what evil was being perpetrated when his personality wasn't in charge. And while it was true that Jonathan had been the victim of a horrific childhood, that trauma didn't just drive the Scarecrow to commit crimes. No, the need for control and revenge was very much a part of Jonathan's basic personality as well. The line that separated the two was far more abstract than he cared to contemplate.

In essence, what the Scarecrow side allowed Jonathan was abandon. Allowing him to indulge in whatever sick needs he was having at the time and feel no guilt, no remorse. For himself, Jonathan, was still capable of those feelings but repressed as much emotion as he could until he completely disassociated himself from humanity. He was the scientist studying humans from the clinical safety of his lab, as such, he treated them like lab rats, to do with as he pleased.

Every time he thought about what had happened to Jonathan as a child he wanted to go the cemetery and dig up Jonathan's bastard stepfather himself, just so he could kill him all over again. That anyone could commit such heinous acts, let alone against a child, reminded Bruce of why Gotham needed the Batman so badly. It strengthened his resolve every time he felt it falter. If he could stop just one child from facing the same fate that he himself had also faced then it was all worth it.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

All the grumbling about the waiting and now that the time had finally arrived, Bruce just wanted everything to slow down. In a matter of hours, his life with Jonathan would be decided one way or the other. The treatment would be applied and then all they could do is wait for him to wake. When he next looked into those bluest of eyes would they be vacant and dead or would they be new and alive? And who would he be?

"Bruce?" He turned to find Doctor Bradshaw in scrubs headed down the hall. "We have him prepped. Do you want to see him before we take him down?"

"Could I?" his voice felt raw like he'd been gargling glass.

Bradshaw clapped him on the shoulder, "Sure. Come with me."

The doctor led him through the bleak corridors, their footfalls echoing off the green painted cement walls. Bradshaw pushed through a pair of swinging doors and motioned Bruce through a doorway. The room was a sterile white, partitioned with white curtains. It gave Bruce the creeps.

"This way," Bradshaw motioned and disappeared behind the third partitioned area. Bruce took a deep breath and followed.

Jonathan was strapped to a gurney under a white sheet. His eyes were closed and his breathing was slow and regular.

"We've given him a sedative but he needs to be conscious during the procedure, so he's in and out. You can talk to him if you want. I'll be back in a couple of minutes to get him."

Bruce nodded and approached the gurney. He looked down at Jonathan oddly thankful that they hadn't shaved his head. This way he didn't look sick. He didn't look like he was being taken to have a procedure that could either kill him or leave him a vegetable. He looked asleep… peaceful.

Bruce reached out and put his hand on the young doctor's shoulder. "Jonathan." he murmured quietly. "I don't know if you can hear me or not but I want you to know, I'll be here waiting. It won't take long but even if it's all night, I'll be here. You're not alone. You know what I feel for you… even if I don't say it enough. I don't think either of us is exactly the romantic type but… but… know this. I love you, Jonathan." He leaned down and placed a kiss on Jonathan's lips.

Bradshaw cleared his throat, "It's time."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Bruce paced slowly back and forth, up and down the corridor. On every other turn he would pause and look at his watch. One hour and thirty seven minutes. The procedure was only supposed to take an hour. He ran his hand over his face. He had to remember that there was prep time involved. They would calibrate the machine and wire Jonathan up to it… that would take time. Everything was fine. There was no reason to be concerned yet he reassured himself.

At an hour and forty five minutes Bruce's pace had picked up and he checked his watch at every turn. The obvious tension radiated off him in waves. Nurses and orderlies passing in the hall gave him a wide berth. His expression spoke of dark thoughts and things that screeched in the night.

"Bruce?"

Bruce whipped around at the sound of his name. Bradshaw was headed towards him tugging at his surgical garb as he went. By the time they were face to face Bradshaw was smiling broadly, "Everything went fine, Bruce. He's all right."

The weight that had been constricting his chest lifted, "Really? He's ok?"

"Came through with no complications. The machine worked as advertised, we eradicated his emotion based memory and according to the brain scans there was no damage. Now we just play "wait and see" until he wakes up. That's when we'll know for sure what the procedure has done."

Bruce took a deep breath and shook the doctor's hand. "Thank you, Allen. Thank you."

"He's expected to sleep through the night so if you want to go home and come back in the morning…"

"No. I promised Jonathan I would stay."

"All right. We put him in a private room during recovery so there'll be a nurse in there and he'll be wired up to all kinds of monitors. But I think we can find you some room if you want to spend the night. Follow me."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sometime around two am the sounds of the heart monitor and other various machines that were monitoring and cataloging Jonathan's every bodily function lulled Bruce into a trance. It was that odd place between consciousness and a dream state where the normal and the absurd played together. He'd been watching Jonathan's calm face as he slept, waiting for the moment that would save them or damn them… and he'd just… drifted off.

Bruce stretched and opened his eyes to find eyes of deep azure staring back at him. He smiled. "Jonathan."

Jonathan smiled back unpleasantly, "Think again." As Bruce watched, Jonathan's skin began to crinkle and shift. Its texture grew course and his features grew indistinct. "You killed off the wrong personality," the Scarecrow hissed. Bruce sat bolt upright in his chair drawing air in sucking gasps.

The nurse, on her hourly rounds, looked up from her clipboard, "Are you all right, Mister Wayne?"

He looked over to the bed where Jonathan still lay peacefully, "I'm fine… fine, thank you."

The nurse nodded but didn't look at all convinced. "I'll be back in an hour."

Bruce leaned back in the chair, well that was unpleasant he mused. He checked his cell and found twenty two messages waiting. Only twenty two, he grinned. Maybe Wayne Enterprises _really_ could get along without him. He checked his watch, five am. Still early.

Bruce got up and headed over to the sink and splashed some water on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror. The Scarecrow is gone, he silently told his reflection. He's gone for good and he can't come back. He can't come back.

A motion behind him in the mirror instantly got his attention. Jonathan was stirring. Bruce held his breath. Everything suddenly condensed down to this one moment in time. His future with Jonathan might be decided right here and now. He walked slowly over to the bedside. Jonathan stretched slightly, his eyes fighting to open. "Jonathan? Can you hear me?"

Bruce's brown eyes locked with blue. Blue that went from a soft haze to sharp focus in an instance. There was no malice or fear in those eyes only mild curiosity, "Who are you?" the voice soft, smooth, and achingly familiar.

"It's Bruce." He cleared his throat, "Bruce Wayne."

Jonathan frowned, "You look familiar but I can't quite place you." The prone man raised his head slightly, "Where… never mind. Obviously, a hospital, obviously by the pounding in my head, I've been hurt?" he questioned.

"I think I should probably let the doctor explain everything." Bruce couldn't help but reach out and put his hand on Jonathan's shoulder. The man didn't seem to react one way or the other to the contact. Bruce didn't know if that was good or bad. "Just don't try and move around too much. Let me get the doctor."

Jonathan nodded still looking around.

"Nurse, nurse," Bruce motioned, "Please let Doctor Bradshaw know he's awake. And talking," he added with a smile.

"Do you think I could have some water?" Jonathan maneuvered himself into a sitting position.

"Wait, you should probably wait…" Bruce tried to prevent him from moving but remembered you could seldom stop Jonathan from doing what he wanted, when he wanted, and instead poured him a cup of water. "You should sip slowly."

"It's ok… Bruce?" Jonathan took the offered cup gratefully. "I feel fine, except for the pounding head." He began gingerly running his fingers over his skull. "I don't feel any contusions." He paused and looked at Bruce. "You and I, we're friends? I think I'm having flashes of…"

"Bruce?"

Both men turned as Bradshaw appeared at the door. "Jonathan," he smiled. "You're up and talking."

"You both seem almost surprised by that. Any reason I shouldn't be?"

Both men exchanged a glance. "Let's take this one step at a time. Ok? Do you know your name?"

Jonathan frowned slightly then answered, "Jonathan Crane."

"Good. Your birthday?"

"January thirteenth."

"How about the chemical composition of water?" Bradshaw queried.

"Two atoms Hydrogen, one Oxygen," he answered immediately and without forethought.

Bradshaw smiled, "Very good. What's your favorite childhood memory?"

Jonathan opened his mouth then closed it. "I... I don't know. I'm… there are strange holes." His expression grew puzzled, "There's something wrong."

Bruce stepped forward, worry evident on his face. Bradshaw motioned for him to wait. "Why do you say something is wrong?"

"Because… because I have holes in my memory, gaps. Like I know things, but I don't." "I know him." Jonathan motioned to Bruce, "But I'm not sure I know who he is." He shook his head, "I'm not making sense."

"Actually, you're doing very well." Bradshaw nodded to Bruce with a reassuring smile. Bruce relaxed minutely.

"With all these machines I'm hooked up to, I'd have to say you're downplaying the situation, doctor," Jonathan cocked a brow. "Do I have brain damage?"

Bruce smiled a little at Bradshaw, Jonathan seemed amazingly like himself. That had to be a good thing didn't it?

"I tell you what. After we have a little chat I'll let you take a look at the file on the procedure... how's that?"

Jonathan nodded slowly, "I do seem to have medical knowledge. Am I a doctor? I think there are memories… yes, definitely medical school."

Bradshaw turned to Bruce, "Could you give us a few minutes."

Bruce nodded, "Jonathan, I'll be right outside if you need anything, ok?"

Jonathan's eyebrows rose slightly, "Uh, sure ok."

The few minutes quickly turned in a half an hour but if Jonathan was anything like his old self then Bruce knew he would be questioning Bradshaw like an interrogator. He couldn't help but smile again. It worked. It really worked. Jonathan was himself, minus a good chunk of memories... and the Scarecrow was gone. He sobered, but how could they really know that? If and until he decided to make an appearance how could they know for sure?

Bradshaw came to the doorway and motioned him back.

"So? Did you examine him? What do you think?"

Bradshaw laughed lightly, "He's good, Bruce. He really is. I've explained that he went through a treatment for mental illness and that it's left the holes in his memory but that quite a lot should come back to him over time. I didn't go into specifics yet. I think, knowing Jonathan as I do, that when he's ready for the answers then he'll be asking his own questions, so for now, I think that's how we should play this."

Bruce nodded, "I agree, let him ask."

"Answer whatever he asks honestly. Start out general and if he asks you to be more specific just take it slow. If you notice adverse emotional reactions and there will be some, so don't worry, just back off and let me handle it. He's going to need medication, probably some anti-anxiety as well as anti-depressives so we'll just keep an eye on his moods. I don't want to overwhelm him... too much. I'm hoping he'll lean on you for emotional support."

"He said I was familiar. That's a good thing right?"

"Definitely."

Bruce dropped his voice low, "Will he remember everything about who I am? What happened between us?"

"Jonathan is the first human trial we've had, Bruce. I'm afraid it's all new territory. We'll just have to wait and see what comes back."

"But…. the Scarecrow."

"Won't be back. You don't have to worry about that. Really." Bradshaw smiled, "I need to call Doctor Strange and let him know. He'll want to interview him as soon as possible." "Go reintroduce yourself, Bruce."

NOTE: Just a note about Strange and his machine. This idea actually came from the animated series. Strange had a machine that could re-write a person's personality. I just adapted that idea to this story. Obviously, it wouldn't work in a RL situation but I think in the Batman universe it actually works well. Hopefully, you won't see the twists coming. (evil grin)


	3. Chapter 3

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Hey," Bruce poked his head in the room, "I'm back."

"Yes, I see that," Jonathan said dryly.

Bruce couldn't help but stop and stare. Jonathan was so much like himself it was as if nothing had happened. They could have been talking last week or last month for all the difference there was. But then again, there_ was_ a difference. That hard, glacial edge that Jonathan normally projected didn't seem to be there anymore. Jonathan had always been very good at pretending, but as charming as he could be, he was always guarded, aloof. Not now. His expression was open and curious, his eyes cool but not cold.

"You know zoning out like that can be a sign of seizure. You might want to get that checked out."

Bruce came back to himself with a chuckle. Definitely Jonathan. "I'm just a bit distracted. I'm sorry. I didn't get much sleep, that chair was a bitch."

"You slept here? Why?"

"Uh, yeah." Bruce ran his hand through his hair. "I just needed to make sure you were ok."

"I see," Jonathan answered appraisingly. "Because we're friends…"

"Yes." Awkward.

"And you always spend the night with friends that have psychotic breaks and need aggressive and highly experimental treatment… Bradshaw's only a little better than you at deflecting."

"I just don't want to overwhelm you, Jonathan. I wouldn't lie to you. Whatever you want to know I'll tell you. All you need to do is ask." Bruce sat down. His adrenaline was bottoming out and he felt bone tired.

Jonathan seemed to be studying him. He nodded slightly. "That's actually a wise plan. You're unsure of my emotional stability so you allow me take the lead in recovering my memory."

Bruce laughed, "You don't know how good it is to hear you talk like that."

"No, I don't."

"I'm sorry." Bruce put up his hands. He had to remember that at this point, he was a stranger. "It's just that I was so worried. No one was sure that this would work."

"I must have been very ill to risk such a procedure," Jonathan supplied.

Bruce's expression sobered, "You were. But all that matters now is that we work on your recovery."

"We?" Jonathan looked him up and down, "So just how close of a "friendship" do we have, Bruce?"

It didn't look like they needed to question what the procedure did to the man's mental acuity. No use dragging it out. "Close. We, uh, we've been together on and off for three years."

"Together. I see."

Bruce waited but there didn't seem to be anything else forthcoming. "Look, there's no pressure. I know you don't really know me. You don't even know yourself right now. Or what you feel. You don't need to worry about it, ok. Right now, all I'm concerned with is that you get well."

Jonathan just looked at him then said, "So I'm gay?"

"Uh," Bruce chuckled, "Well, pretty gay the last few years, I guess. But you're not all that gender specific."

The man in bed looked contemplative.

"Maybe that wasn't what you really wanted to hear right now," Bruce offered. "But I won't lie to you." _Even if it means I lose you he thought. Even if just the thought of letting you go makes me die a little inside. _

Jonathan looked up at him. "It's obvious I'm causing you pain. That's not my intention."

"Hey, this isn't about me…"

"Right now, my mind is a bit like a jigsaw puzzle. There are all these random pieces and I'm not sure where they all fit. Each time someone tells me something new it's another piece added that I have to figure out where it belongs. I said you seemed familiar and you do. I feel comfortable around you, like I can trust you. Without anything else to go on, I think I'm just going to stick with that feeling. As for our relationship… I'm not concerned about the "gay" angle. I simply don't have an opinion right now. I hope you understand that?"

"I do," Bruce visible relaxed. Jonathan trusted him and that was a start. He didn't freak out about their relationship, also a relief.

"Why don't you sit down and tell me about yourself, Bruce?"

Bruce talked more about himself, his real self, than he had in years. He wanted Jonathan to understand as much as he could before they had they inevitable discussion about Batman. While it was a conversation he wasn't looking forward to, he was even less looking forward to the one that would follow about the Scarecrow.

Jonathan listened intently to everything he said only occasionally asking more pointed questions and mostly just for clarifications sake. His demeanor remained open and curious if not a little stunned but that was to be expected. "So... that just about brings the life and times of Bruce Wayne up to date."

Jonathan nodded, "I appreciate your candor. I think I'm tired now. If you don't mind I'd like to sleep a bit."

"Sure, of course. This has to be a drain. Just know that I'm here, ok?" Bruce reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell. "Here, take this. All my numbers are in it. I'm going to run home and shower. Maybe grab a quick bite but if you need anything, anything at all, speed dial me and I'll be right back." He smiled uncertainly, unwilling to just leave. It had taken so much to get to this point and now he found he didn't want to leave Jonathan, even for a moment.

The young doctor turned the phone over in his hands. "Thank you… Bruce. That's very kind of you."

He tried not to take the distance so personally. He had to remember that Jonathan didn't really know him right now and it was unlikely that all of his memories would return. In fact, that was the point of the treatment. They wouldn't return. The Scarecrow wouldn't return. But he wouldn't know for months just how much of what they had meant to each other would be recovered and how much would be lost forever. "I guess I should get going... anything, I mean it. Speed dial number one."

"I have it, thank you." Jonathan nodded.

"Goodbye, Jonathan. I'll be back soon."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Jonathan lay back in his bed. His mind was a whirlwind of "what the hell". He was overwhelmed by the situation but certainly not panicked by it. He was a psychiatrist (former) and a mental patient… one that had apparently been violent… and incurable. Jonathan leaned over a bit and could just make out a guard standing outside the door. They weren't taking any chances apparently. He was in Arkham Asylum. He knew that name. The place had a reputation. He wasn't sure what that meant exactly, though, he thought that perhaps he was supposed to be afraid.

He closed his eyes. He wasn't afraid. His emotions were almost muted. It could be the medication he supposed. Doctor Bradshaw had him on sedatives as well as anti-anxiety meds. It was a wonder he wasn't unconscious. He must have a high tolerance to drugs.

He looked around the room at all the monitoring devices. The procedure he underwent had been experimental. They didn't know what to expect. He inwardly scoffed, that made two of them. What did one do in this situation? You wake to find you're incarcerated in a mental institution for the criminally insane. Yes, that was it. Arkham Asylum, it was home to the worst of the worst. What did that make him? Jonathan frowned. He didn't feel unstable or violent, just confused. Then again, the insane didn't realize they were insane.

This was circular logic that would get him nowhere. The facts were the facts. The best thing he could do for himself right now was to concentrate on what he could remember and put those memories into some kind of context. And then there was Bruce Wayne. What was he supposed to make of that? He was in a gay relationship with a billionaire scion? Jonathan pondered that odd bit of news. He didn't find the idea of being with a man to be repulsive, not at all, so at the very least that made him bi-sexual. Jonathan crossed his arms over his chest.

Frankly, at the moment, his sexual orientation seemed to be the least of his worries. He seemed to know rather useless facts about the man but not really anything personal. The personal things that Bruce had talked about didn't really spark any reaction. They were just more facts. He didn't at all remember the emotional aspects. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he noticed that his mind seemed full of very rational, general, facts but little or any of any emotional consequence.

He had apparently been in a relationship with a man for three years. Vague ghost like images played across  
his mind. It was like watching a movie. The images were there but they meant nothing to him. That was extremely curious. The procedure he had underwent obviously targeted certain memory centers but not others. He was almost overcome with curiosity about what the procedure entailed. To be able to target certain parts of the brain and eradicate only certain aspects was revolutionary and a bit frightening. An unscrupulous person could technically "re-write" someone's personality with such a device. He wondered if anyone had considered that prospect. The files that Doctor Bradshaw had promised him would hopefully answer some of his questions, at least about his treatment.

A fleeting memory danced across his consciousness, a mask, an ugly hollow-eyed monstrosity of burlap. What the hell was that? It made him decidedly uncomfortable. Not afraid exactly, just... wary. Yet another thing he would have to ask his "psychiatrist" about. This was just too much to think about. He didn't want to deal with it. Jonathan concentrated on his breathing and cleared his mind. His problems would be still there in the morning.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Jonathan felt rather than heard the movement and his eyes shot open, something deep within him triggering a fight or flight response.

"Good morning," an unfamiliar man glanced over at him as he adjusted the setting on one of the monitors.

He nodded in his direction. "Who are you?"

The man smiled but there was nothing inviting about the expression. "The real question should be, who are you?"

"Jonathan Crane. But you already know that… unless you make a habit of invading stranger's hospital rooms?"

Jonathan took stock of the man. He was short and stocky, somewhere in his early fifties, if he had to guess. His hair was thinning and unkempt. But what really caught his attention was the man's eyes. They were a deep muddy brown, ugly behind their thick glass lenses. There was really only one person that it could be. "You must be Doctor Strange. Doctor Bradshaw mentioned you'd be stopping by. You designed my treatment."

"Indeed. I designed the machine that it made it possible for your treatment. I've looked forward to meeting you for quite a while. Your case is quite fascinating."

"Really. Why is that?"

"Ah, well, that is something you can bring up with Doctor Bradshaw. My only real purpose in your treatment was facilitating the use of my neural device. I will, of course, be following your progress but there are other facets of the experiment that are in need of my attention. If you're concerned, Doctor Bradshaw told me you're doing quite well. I would have to agree."

"If you say so. I don't really have a frame of reference. I feel fine both physically and mentally though I am a bit confused by the information I've been given."

"I assure you that what Doctor Bradshaw told you is quite accurate. You have been mentally ill for a long time. Your condition was deemed incurable. Until my treatment of course."

The man reeked of arrogance and something else that Jonathan couldn't quite put his finger on, but he didn't like it. "Of course, I'm very curious about the details. Would you be willing to supply me with technical information on the procedure? Doctor Bradshaw said…"

"I would like to see you concentrate on your recovery," Strange announced abruptly. "The how's and why's, I think, can wait for the time being but I promise you, when the time comes, I will tell you everything," an oily smile slid across Strange's lips.

Now why don't I believe that will happen anytime soon, Jonathan thought but instead answered, "You're right. My recovery is priority one." He was suddenly very glad that Bradshaw was heading-up his aftercare. He didn't trust this man farther than he could throw him.

"I came all the way from Switzerland to assure you would be my first human trial and I have to say, you do not disappoint. This is going to be a great success."

"Thank you?" Jonathan frowned. "I'm not sure I understand."

Strange waved his hand dismissively, "Your particular psychosis was really tailor-made for testing the far reaching capabilities of my machine. Bradshaw will explain your diagnosis when he thinks you're emotional stable enough. Until then, I urge you to get to know yourself again. Indulge yourself."

"That seems unlikely given my current situation," Jonathan offered bluntly.

"Situations change. I promise you, you will make a complete recovery. Try not to cause yourself undue stress. I wouldn't damage that brilliant mind of yours."

"I see." He didn't. His memory might be faulty but no doctor should make, could make, such a promise. The procedure was experimental how could he possible know the outcome? What the hell did all of it mean? "So where do we go from here?"

"I'm going to recommend that you be immediately moved to the medium security wing of the hospital. Give you access to books and television. Anything you want, within reason. It will allow you more free movement as well as visitors. The more mental stimulation you receive, the faster your recovery will be."

"Thank you, Doctor Strange." He wasn't entirely sure he knew what he was thanking the man for, but anything to get rid of the piggy-eyed doctor was a step in the right direction in his opinion. Perhaps it was irrational, but something was telling him that his savior was dangerous. Jonathan aggressively pushed the thought down, that was paranoia and it was never a good sign. He was recovering from mental aberration, he needed to trust the people that were caring for him. He smiled but his eyes remained troubled.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

NOTE: I've always loved Crane's snarky attitude and Cillian played to that so perfectly. One thing I have never cared for is Crane being portrayed as too submissive or weak. No, he's not big and burly Bane but he's not weak either. It's just that his strength lies in his intellect rather than his brawn. He knows that and he uses that to his advantage. I think written stories play well to that strength.


	4. Chapter 4

The next month went by in a whirlwind of examinations and sessions with no less than a half a dozen doctors until everything was getting on his very last nerve. Being constantly poked and prodded either physically or mentally was quickly wearing thin and Jonathan found himself snapping irritably until Doctor Bradshaw had finally offered him a day to himself. He'd been grateful for the respite.

There was a small courtyard off the medium security ward, Bradshaw had encouraged him to use it as a retreat whenever he felt the need. Leaning back in his chair, book in-hand, Jonathan inhaled the smell of mulch. Anything that didn't smell of antiseptic was an improvement in his opinion.

While he found the medical aspect of his case to be fascinating, he quickly found that he really didn't enjoy being a patient. That wasn't exactly accurate, it wasn't being a patient that bothered him so much as the way he was treated by others_ as_ a patient.

He was just as much a professional as the staff, memory issues or not, of that, he was sure. His education was completely intact and being talked down to or talked around as if he wasn't even there, made him want to throw something. Probably best to refrain from throwing an actual tantrum though, given that until a month ago he was in maximum security for violent behavior.

That portion of his memory hadn't come back to him but he had no doubt that at some point he would have to face up to whatever actions had brought him to this horrible place. He hoped it wouldn't be too soon, though he wouldn't admit it, something about that whole aspect of himself scared him and probably rightly so.

"You looked troubled," a voice offered from the doorway.

Jonathan scoffed, "I can't imagine why I would be troubled. Locked up in an asylum for the criminally insane and treated as some rare but dangerous animal to be studied. Not troubling at all."

Bruce fought back a grin. He knew it wasn't funny, not at all, but the fact was Jonathan had come through his treatment … as Jonathan… and he couldn't be happier for it. They had already settled into an easy friendship. It gave him hope that the future they had fought so hard for, might actually be possible after all.

"You're very transparent, you know that? I can see the gears turning."

"Am I? Only with you, I should think." Oh, if he only knew.

Jonathan shook his head lightly but a small smile graced his full lips. "I'm glad you're here."

"So am I." Bruce pulled a chair close. "You've been getting all kinds of glowing reports you know."

Jonathan rolled his eyes, "You want to pat my head?"

"Not exactly," he replied with a hint of suggestion. In truth, all he wanted to do was pull his former lover into his arms and not let go. He could probably bribe the orderly at the door to look the other way. He only wished he had a better perspective on where Jonathan's mind was on the idea that they had been a couple.

"Are you coming on to me, Mister Wayne?"

"Maybe… but I doubt the doctors would approve at this early juncture." It didn't sound like he minded the obvious flirtation that seemed to crop up in their conversations, Bruce considered. But true to form, Jonathan remained hard to read.

Jonathan placed his book on the side table. "I want to thank you for being here with me through all this, Bruce. It's made… it," Jonathan gestured around himself, "A little easier."

"You don't have to thank me, you know. I want to be here with you through this."

"Why?"

"Why? You know why. You and I have been in a relationship…"

"Yes, yes, I know, but if your…," Jonathan seemed at a loss for a proper word, "…*boyfriend* going nuts isn't a good excuse to get out while you can, I don't know what is."

"Boyfriend huh," Bruce grinned.

"I'm sure that charm of yours goes quite far with most people but I'm not that easy to dissuade."

"No, you're not," Bruce agreed. "Look Jonathan, I didn't want to get into a whole thing until you were ready to deal with it. I mean it's only been little more than a month since your treatment. We don't have to be in a hurry. We have time to get to know each other again. I'm actually looking forward to it. It's a fresh start."

"A fresh start, uh huh. Yes, it's only been a month and its already grating on my nerves that everyone is treating me like I'll break. Bradshaw claims that I'm stable. So if I'm so stable why is it that people around me seem to be afraid of me? I know there's something that everyone is holding back. I assume in regard to why I was committed in the first place." His voice dropped to a hush, "Was it really that bad, Bruce?"

"It was bad," Bruce acknowledged, "But that doesn't matter right now. All that matters is that you're better. You're healthy and well…"

"And sane?" Jonathan queried curiously. "Do you believe the treatment has worked? Am I…" Jonathan looked away. "I don't feel unstable but that doesn't really mean much does it. I just feel lost and alone."

"You're not alone, Jonathan. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. And for what it's worth, yeah, I believe the procedure worked. You're just as sane as the rest of us." Bruce chuckled, "Though I'm not sure that's a recommendation."

"How do you know that? On what are you basing the assumption? Because I'm not foaming at the mouth and trying to slice the staff into little pieces?" The orderly shot a look in their direction, "Sorry, Carl. Just making a point."

Bruce shrugged, "I don't know. I guess because I knew you before and I knew the signs. You're so much the same," he marveled, "And yet different."

"That clarifies nothing. Different how? I have no memory of being anything other than how I am now."

"That was sort of the point of the treatment," Bruce hedged. Jonathan was tenacious but it seemed like it was too soon to be having this discussion.

"How so? I'm missing memories but what did the treatment do exactly? What do the missing memories have to do with my breakdown?"

"You know, I think this is a subject that you may want to address with Bradshaw." Bruce knew that it had been the wrong thing to say as soon as the words left his mouth.

Jonathan's face hardened. "I trust _you._"

"I thought you decided that Bradshaw was trustworthy as well?" Lame Bruce, really lame.

Jonathan's voice took-on a familiar icy edge. "Don't deflect. I'm asking you, not Bradshaw. You were the one that said you would answer my questions when I asked them."

Jonathan was too much himself to play any games, Bruce knew. He'd have to be completely honest or risk Jonathan's trust. It was the only way. "I'm ok with being the one to tell you about your past as long as your doctors agree. But I'm not going to do anything that might jeopardize your recovery. You're too important to me. You understand that right?"

The former doctor crossed his arms over his chest. His face remained hard but he nodded. "I'm sorry. Maybe I need to ask Bradshaw to adjust my meds. Depression is an issue, so please ignore the irritability."

"Look, I know this has to be overwhelming. I get it. And I get that you think it would help you feel in control if you knew the whole story. Believe me, no one is intentionally trying to keep you in the dark. We just want what's best for you. Please, just give yourself some more time to adjust." Bruce knew he was being selfish but once the truth about the Scarecrow was revealed then he would also have to come clean about the Batman. He knew that he didn't need to worry about trusting Jonathan with his secret, after all, even at his sickest, Jonathan hadn't betrayed his identity.

It was more concern for the fact that they were just getting to re-know each other and while finding out that you were some kind of evil genius bent on terrorizing an entire city was bad enough, finding out that your significant other was the costumed vigilante that had been hunting you might just be the final straw. No pun intended. How was he going to explain their love/hate relationship and all the things that had transpired on both sides? Why yes Jonathan, I did technically kidnap you and hold you as my love slave but it was very therapeutic for both of us. Oh, you only tried to kill me a few times but they were halfhearted attempts at best.

"Adjust? To what? The loss of memories? The fact that I did something awful enough to land me in Arkham Asylum? To having to figure out all over again how I feel about the man that I've apparently been in a relationship for three years? Take your pick, Bruce." Jonathan turned away. "I'm feeling tired, I'm just going to go back to my room now."

"Jonathan please…let me help. It's not good for you to shut down. You need to express... "

The former doctor cut him off, "From what I understand I'm the only one between us that went to medical school so don't tell me what's good for me." His eyes had taken on an icy shine that definitely read as *back the hell off*. It seemed that Jonathan had also kept his temper.

"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to pick a fight. I'll talk to Bradshaw, ok? I'll let him know your concerns."

At first, Jonathan's expression didn't change but then he finally sighed lightly and nodded. The anger seemed to drain away. "I understand. I'm being unreasonable. I have to trust that the doctors are applying the best treatment possible."

Bruce reached out and touched him on the shoulder. "I promise you can trust me, Jonathan. I wouldn't let anything happen to you. Just be patient."

A small smile touched his lips. "I do trust you. I told you that." Jonathan reached up and placed his hand over Bruce's, "Thank you."

Bruce squeezed lightly, "Anytime."

"I'm just going to lie down for a while. I'll see you for dinner?"

"Of course. We have a standing date in the cafeteria."

Jonathan made a face. "Yes, well. Not the most appetizing of venues is it."

"I have a cast iron stomach but yeah I know what you mean. Let me see what I can do about it."

"What do you mean?" Jonathan held up his hand, "Never mind I don't want to know. Goodbye, Bruce."

"See you soon, Jonathan."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Carl nodded to him as Jonathan passed through the double doors back into the hospital hall, his own personal guard dog. Jonathan took slow deep breaths. Why did he feel so resentful? He was beginning to think he had some serious issues with authority. He wouldn't be in this place if he didn't belong here. Patients in Arkham were usually referred by the courts which meant he had committed a crime. Perhaps more than one. How did he even feel about that? Like everything else, he didn't know. As far as he was concerned, he'd done nothing wrong and being locked up like an animal without understanding the truth was just not an option. He needed to know. No matter how bad it was. Knowledge was power, if he knew what had happened, he could understand why he was being treated the way he was, why those around him had chosen to try such a radical treatment.

"Doctor Crane, your room?"

Crane looked up to see Carl motioning. He'd walked right past his ten by ten concrete "suite". It was ever so chic. Being in medium security allowed you all the amenities, like running water and a toilet in your room. Chez Arkham, indeed, no resentment there. "Sorry, Carl. I was lost in thought."

"I figured," the orderly offered with a small smile.

He turned to enter his room. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, Doctor."

"Did you know me before?"

The man hesitated then replied, "You know I can't talk to you about your past or your treatment. That comes straight from Doctor Bradshaw."

"I know, Carl. The only reason I ask is because you seem to be one of the few around here that doesn't treat me with distain. I thought perhaps we had been colleagues or even friends."

"We knew each other, Doctor Crane, Carl acknowledged. " We got along well. I guess, maybe, I understood you a little better than most."

Jonathan pondered that little tidbit. "Thank you for your continued respect."

Carl nodded, "You always told me the truth and treated me fair. I appreciated that. Whatever else was going on wasn't none of my business."

Jonathan wasn't sure how to respond. He wanted the facts and he wasn't sure that he cared how he got them. Given a little time, he knew he could get the information he wanted from the orderly. In fact, it would be child's play. But somehow, it didn't seem right to manipulate the man like that. Jonathan bit back his impatience, "Goodnight, Carl."

"Goodnight, Doctor Crane."

The closing of his cell door seemed to echo in Jonathan Crane's head for hours.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Bruce?"

"Hey Allen, I know it's late but I needed to pass something on before you talk to Jonathan tomorrow."

"Ok, shoot. What's going on?"

"I think we might want to consider telling him the whole story or at least as much of it as he can take. I know it's only been little more than a month now but I know him and he's not handling the "ignorance is bliss" philosophy very well."

"Been asking questions?"

"Pointed questions and isn't very happy with evasions instead of answers. We promised him that if he asked we'd tell him the truth. If we're not as good as our word..."

"Then he won't trust anything we say. You're right." Bradshaw sighed, "I should have seen this coming. I was hoping that we would have more time to get him settled into remembering the smaller things first but as promised, Jonathan is still Jonathan. His mind is still as keen as it ever was and his disposition just as prickly."

Bruce started to laugh. "You have no idea how many times I've thought that same thing. To have Jonathan back and healthy is beyond anything I could have imagined would happen. Strange deserves some serious recognition for what he's accomplished. So what do we do about it?"

"We do what we promised and we answer his questions. If it looks like he's having an adverse reaction to any of the information then we'll have to help him through it. I can't imagine that there won't be some. Being told you're a homicidal psychotic is not something that will be easy to face."

"What about the rest of it? I don't want to tell him part of it and then have him remember the rest and think that I was trying to keep it from him."

"Bruce, we really need to take this slowly and play it by ear. I don't want to compromise his stability because his ego is smarting. Genetics play a role in our personalities but our experiences shape how those in-born traits develop. We don't know how much removing traumatic memory will alter how Jonathan responds to situations. I want him to have as stable and supportive an environment as possible so when he faces his demons he won't fall back into questionable patterns of behavior."

"I understand and you know I'll do whatever you need me to do but I really think it should be soon."

"We don't you come by a little early tomorrow and we'll all sit down in my office and see where it goes from there."

"Sounds good… I think. I'm not looking forward to it."

"I know. But look how far we've already come. If Jonathan is ever going to be released then he needs to face his past and deal with it. Even if he doesn't remember all of it."

"Let's hope there's some of it he never remembers. Alan… I know what Strange promised but if there's even the smallest chance that the Scarecrow could come back…"

"There isn't. I went over the data many times, Bruce. I wanted to be just as sure as you are that we were doing the right thing. That the procedure would work as advertised. Those memories are gone and with them went the Scarecrow. I'm not worried about that at all. But we're still dealing with someone whose brain is healing from an ordeal. We need to proceed cautiously so that we don't precipitate any new trauma. There's no getting around the fact that we're about to severely stress Jonathan. I want to minimize the impact to his recovery."

Bruce closed his eyes. Stress Jonathan, the idea made his guts clench. A stressed Jonathan was always a Scarecrow Jonathan. No, Bradshaw was right. The procedure had worked. They just needed to make sure that they didn't drive Jonathan into a nervous breakdown by revealing his past. "Thanks for the pep talk, Alan. I'll see you first thing in the morning."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Jonathan rolled over yet again trying to get comfortable. It was impossible on the thin, lumpy, mattress. He sighed and lay flat out on his back. It had to be morning. His internal clock had been pretty steady since he'd found himself a patient in this god-awful place. He ticked it off in his head, forty seven days ago. Well, forty seven days that he could remember. How did anyone expect the patients to get better in such an oppressive place? he pondered.

After spending three days in recovery they'd taken him to solitary confinement in the medium security ward. Given how charming _that_ had been, with iron doors and concrete walls, he'd really hate to see what maximum security was like, it was fortunate he couldn't remember his time there. According to Bruce, it had been nearly three months, three months of his life in a padded cell, drugged out of his mind and drooling on his shirt. He stared up at the water stained ceiling. That stung his ego, more than a little. He hated this place.

He still had yet another round of physical and psychological tests on the schedule for today so that meant that his morning would be spent being poked and prodded… again. He gritted his teeth. This attitude would get him nowhere. Jonathan took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves. Therapy wasn't meant to be pleasant. It was necessary to the process, he reminded himself.

The electronic bolt on the door clanked as it was thrown open and Carl stepped inside, "Good morning Doctor Crane. You have an appointment in ten minutes with Doctor Henley. Do you think you can be ready?"

Jonathan unclenched his fists. "Of course."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o


	5. Chapter 5

As Jonathan trudged down the long bleak hall towards his next round of tests he couldn't help but wonder at the familiarity of this place. He was a psychiatrist that much he knew. Was it such a reach to think that he might have been employed at the very institution that he was now being treated? Had something happened here to send him into a spiral of madness? Given the nature of the place, it wouldn't surprise him.

It wasn't just his imagination either. Sometimes he would turn down a hall and would know with absolute certainty what was behind the doors that he passed. Even the names on those doors were familiar yet he hadn't met any of them, at least that he could remember. It was like constant déjà vu.

And of course no one was willing to enlighten him. The staff's reactions to him ranged from obvious discomfort to outright fear and loathing. It was disconcerting. What had he done to engender such revulsion? Both Bruce and Bradshaw had promised he was free to learn about himself at his own pace but it was obvious that they were recalcitrant about the whole situation. He rubbed at his temple, the stress was giving him a headache. "Carl, do you think you could get me some Advil?"

"Shouldn't be a problem, Doctor Crane." Carl stopped in front of him and motioned to a door. "I'll take care of it while you're in your session."

"Thank you. You're very kind," Jonathan answered and meant it. His ever-present shadow was the only one that didn't seem to want something from him... even Bruce wanted something from him. It might be benevolent but it was still an expectation that he wasn't sure he could deal with right now. He chastised himself. He owed Bruce a lot. If not for the Wayne scion he might never have gotten the treatment he so obviously needed. Without him, he would still be drooling on his straightjacket. But no matter how grateful he was, he didn't like to owe people. He knew that, not from memory, but because it was what he felt.

Jonathan schooled his expression, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"And how are we doing this morning Jonathan?" Henley inquired without even looking up.

Jonathan instantly tensed at the condescending turn of phrase, "Well, I don't know how _you_ are, Doctor Henley but I'm quite well."

Any good intentions he had about cooperating with Henley and this session just went out the window. The man was an ass. Jonathan sat down, locking his eyes onto the top of the other man's bald pate. If he had laser vision he'd be burning a hole through his head about now. That thought made Jonathan smile lightly.

Henley just scribbled some notes on his pad as if Jonathan hadn't said a word. "How have you been sleeping? Any dreams or nightmares?"

Jonathan's eyes narrowed and he bit back a scathing retort. "I might be able to dream if I could manage to sleep more than a couple of hours at a time on that piss-poor excuse for a mattress in my room. I can feel every spring digging into my back. And I don't need to conjure any nightmares in my sleep, being locked in here is nightmare enough, I assure you."

"Feeling irritable today I see." There was more scribbling.

That was the last straw. Of all the condescending pricks, Jonathan fumed. He wasn't going to put up with it anymore.

"Have you noticed any increase in the irritation or anxiety? Or any feelings of alienation or anger?" Henley held his pencil poised. He still hadn't even bothered to look up.

"Actually, since you mentioned it, I think I do remember having a dream last night. I think you were featured in it." Jonathan paused, as if reflecting, "At least, I think it was you, hard to tell. You were wearing a dress and high heels… and way too much make-up. Maybe it's a memory. What do you think it means, doctor?"

Apparently, Henley had forgotten about the notes because he was now staring at Jonathan agape. "What? You… uh… you dreamed what?"

_Well, that got the asshole to look at you, didn't it…_ Jonathan bit back a smile. Ok, maybe, that was a bit childish but damn it, he was tired of putting up with all the inane questions by doctors who seemed barely competent enough to have gotten through medical school. He couldn't address any emotional issues when he didn't have any memories of having any issues. Not to mention that other than being in this horrible place he really wasn't suffering from any emotional distress. Nothing was bothering him, he didn't want to hurt anyone; he was frustrated and bored. Who wouldn't be irritated? All he wanted was to get his life back on track.

"I could write in a dream journal if you like, Doctor Henley, that way, if there's any reoccurrence of the memory… dream, then it will be properly logged for the record." Jonathan had to bite back the smirk that threatened to erupt on his lips.

"I, uh, really don't think, that will be necessary," Henley's face had gone ashen.

The man really was an idiot, Jonathan marveled. Did he not realize that when seated, the cuff on his pants leg rode-up revealing the fishnet stocking he was wearing? Cross-dressing wasn't an illness but there was a typical pattern to the behavior. It wasn't a big leap to assume that if the man was wearing items of ladies underwear under his clothes at work then at home he probably completed the ensemble. Jonathan shrugged, "Whatever you think is best."

"Uh, you have a session with Doctor Bradshaw at nine." I think we can just forgo the rest of this for today." Sweat beaded on the pudgy man's brow. "I'll pick up notes from Doctor Bradshaw's report later." He stood and shoved the remaining papers back into the folder and headed to the door. "I'll have Carl keep you company."

Yes, of course, because he needed a babysitter. Jonathan couldn't help the feeling of satisfaction that settled over him at the other doctor's discomfort. The man had been scared... of him. It seemed a bit of an overreaction in his opinion. Jonathan sighed lightly. The lack of control that he felt over his current situation was making him vindictive, he realized. It was hardly surprising he supposed, though, he didn't think that Bradshaw would like it that he was manipulating people... manipulating the staff that was trying to help him, Jonathan reminded himself. He resolved not to do that again.

"Anything I can get you, Doctor Crane?"

Jonathan looked up to see Carl standing in the doorway. "I'm fine, Carl. Thank you."

The orderly glanced into the hall then back. "Doctor Henley seemed a might upset," he commented, a strange inflection in his voice. Was it amusement?

Jonathan cocked his head, unsure about where the conversation was headed. It was likely that the orderly reported everything about their encounters to Bradshaw. "Did he? I hadn't noticed. Though he did seem to be in a hurry didn't he."

Carl smiled knowingly, "Couldn't happen to a nicer guy. Believe me."

"How so?"

"I shouldn't be telling tales," the orderly looked around in conspiratorial fashion.

"No, of course not. I wouldn't want to compromise your integrity." The man was completely transparent. It had taken him less than an hour to classify Carl's personality and the best way to deal with him to get what he wanted. There wasn't anything ulterior in his motives, it was just prudent. Being locked up in such a dangerous place as Arkham, he figured that he needed to keep his wits about him at all times. He needed to know who he could trust and who he couldn't. Carl was one of the few that could be counted on to do what was right rather than what was convenient. He was grateful.

"I heard a rumor that Henley had to pay off one of the security officers on night watch when…" Carl began. He stepped back away from the doorway. "Your friend is here."

"Bruce?" Jonathan came to his feet with a smile.

"Hey Jonathan," Bruce returned the smile with a somewhat forced grin of his own.

Jonathan frowned, "Not that I'm not glad to see you but what are you doing here?"

"I'll try not to take that too personally," the billionaire quipped. He looked around the threadbare office nonchalantly. He could do this.

"Should I be concerned by your game face?" the former doctor studied him.

Bulls-eye as usual. No use trying to deny it. "I talked to Alan about what we discussed and he said that if you felt ready then he was ok with it." Bruce tried to keep his tone light. "I thought maybe I could be there too? I could offer support or answer things that maybe Alan can't." When Jonathan didn't answer, he pushed on, "I really want to be there for you on this but if you don't feel comfortable then I'll respect your wishes."

Jonathan looked back at him with those unfathomably deep eyes. "According to you, you were there with me for the worst of it. I can't think of any reason why you shouldn't be there now."

Tension flowed out of Bruce in a rush. "Thank you…. For trusting me."

Jonathan gave him a little smile, "You haven't given me reason not to. You've been nothing but supportive this last month. I'm sorry if I haven't shown you how much that means to me. I'm still trying to figure myself out." Jonathan looked thoughtful, "I believe I tend toward rudeness."

Bruce chuckled. "You don't have to apologize…" I only hope you still feel that way once you learn the truth of your past, he thought. "Are you… nervous?"

"Honestly, I think I'm relieved. I know that it's not going to be pleasant but the not knowing is worse than anything don't you agree?"

Bruce just looked back at him and tried his damnest to keep his expression neutral. Jonathan prized knowledge above almost everything else but in this case it would reveal things that were best left to the past in his opinion. But there just wasn't a choice. "Well, I…"

"Good morning." Bradshaw walked in with a smile on his face that went a long was to easing his fears.

"Morning Allen." Bruce offered his hand.

"Good morning, Jonathan." Bradshaw lay his hand lightly on his patient's shoulder.

"Doctor," he acknowledged.

"Carl, could you please excuse us," Bradshaw nodded.

"Of course." The orderly closed the door on his way out.

Bruce and Bradshaw locked eyes for an instant then he addressed his patient. "So Jonathan, I understand there are some questions that you are ready to have answered."

Jonathan looked from one man to the other. From their expressions, it appeared they really meant to do this. He'd have his answers. "Correct."

Bradshaw took his place behind the desk. Bruce moved a chair up next to Jonathan's. "All right, no reason to wait any longer. Let's get started."

Jonathan took a breath and looked at the two other men. Bruce's face was cast in stone and Bradshaw had on his neutral "doctor" expression. "With the access you've given me to my records and what I remembered on my own I've gleaned that I was apparently suffering from DID. Is that correct?"

"It is." Bradshaw nodded.

"DID is almost exclusively brought about by trauma. It's a coping mechanism. I assume something extreme happened to me?"

"Yes, while we don't know the specifics of the events we do know that you suffered trauma as a child. The split most likely occurred during that time in response to your situation."

"That would make sense. So the treatment you gave me removed the traumatic memory?"

"It removed the memories as well as the personality that was created in response to the trauma, yes."

Bruce sat rigidly, listening to the exchange, thankful that they were starting at the beginning and feeling guilty for the fact that he didn't want Jonathan to learn the whole truth.

"What can you tell me about the "alter"?"

"You created an archetypal character that thrived on fear as a way to take control of your own fear and deal with whatever was happening to you at the time." Bradshaw paused, "You were full of rage with an obsessive need to inflict that fear on others. Your "alter" was an outlet for venting pain and exercising your control issues."

"I see," Jonathan swallowed hard. "Doesn't sound like a very nice person."

Bradshaw looked to Bruce. "You were obsessed with the mechanics of fear. It was your life's work. Please understand your theories were quite revolutionary, quite brilliant regardless. Your research followed you through school and your time teaching at Gotham University right through to working here at the asylum as administrator."

Well, that answered a lot of questions. So he _had_ been on staff here, more than that, he'd be in charge. So the inmates were really running the asylum, he mused. Jonathan cocked an eyebrow, "But?"

"But your obsession with fear fully manifested in finding a way to control fear and… instill it in others." Bradshaw glanced over at Bruce then proceeded, "You created psychoactive chemicals that affected brain function on a massive scale. And you used them."

"I…" Jonathan sat there, rather dumbfounded, "I created a… a fear toxin of some sort?"

Bradshaw interjected, "You must understand you were psychotic from an early age. By the time you reached adulthood you were very sick. Your alternate personality was there carrying out your delusions and… I'm afraid people died."

"I killed someone. I knew that it wouldn't be good... Wait." Jonathan's voice rose and he turned to Bruce, "People?! People… as in more than one. What are we talking about here, Bruce? What have I done?"

No turning back now. Bruce prayed that Jonathan was strong enough to handle the truth. He looked Jonathan right in the eyes, "A terrorist organization came to Gotham with the intention to destroy it. You had perfected your toxins but you were using them only on a small scale. You were approached with the opportunity to use your gas on a massive scale and you agreed."

The former psychiatrist sat with his mouth open slightly. "I don't even know what to say. This… this isn't what I expected. I knew it was likely that I was here for murder. I can see what this place is," Jonathan gestured around him, "but… that's… that's just crazy." The unintentional pun hung in the air.

Bruce leaned over and took Jonathan's hand. The blue eyed man just stared at their interlocked fingers. "Jonathan you have to know that you weren't in your right mind when you did all those things. That's why you're here now, to get help. And you have been helped. This new treatment has given you a new life, a new chance… without the Scarecrow."

Jonathan sat very still, staring straight ahead. "The Scarecrow? I've heard that name before. That was me?" He'd heard the whispers in the halls. Some of the other inmates had actually shouted the name. It didn't spark any recognition so he'd ignored them. After all, they were insane.

Bradshaw leaned forward, "Do you remember anything about him? About what you did when you were him?"

His head swiveled slowly side to side. "No. I don't remember any of it which is probably a blessing. I can't even imagine…" his voice trailed off. "But I've heard… things. There was even a documentary on television. I only caught a little… the nurses like to keep the channels tuned to the cartoon network. Less triggery for the psychotics. But I saw enough. I…"

Bruce looked to Bradshaw who motioned for him to be patient.

"I think I understand now why you decided to use such a highly experimental treatment. You literally had a monster in your midst."

"We don't think about it that way, Jonathan. Patients that come to Arkham are ill, nothing more."

"Don't try to placate me, I was a doctor too. I remember that much. I remember how this game is played." Jonathan stood up abruptly and began pacing.

"Are you all right?" Bruce bit his lip. "What a stupid question. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I don't know what to think about any of this. There's just no context for me." Jonathan was shaking his head slowly from side to side. "I can't imagine being so full of rage that you would lash out with the intention to kill.

"If it's any consolation, I think death was a secondary consideration. It wasn't the goal."

"That makes it so much better, thanks," Jonathan snapped. He leaned his head against the wall. "I think I've learned enough for today. If you don't mind I'd like to go back to my room and think about this."

"Jonathan," Bradshaw stood and came around the desk. "I'd like us to discuss it."

"What's there to discuss exactly?" Jonathan wheeled on him and Bradshaw took an involuntary step back. "I'm some sort of … of… super villain. A monster in a mask. What more can be said?" Bruce reached out to grasp Jonathan's hand and he pulled away. "Don't," he hissed.

"I'm sorry." Bruce looked to Bradshaw unsure what he should do.

"Please, Jonathan. Please, come sit back down. You're obviously upset and I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone to dwell on this."

Jonathan shook his head and then his face relaxed though he was anything but. "I appreciate your concern Doctor but there really isn't anything that can be accomplished by discussion. I need to come to terms with who and what I am."

Bruce stood. "Who you _were_," he reminded. "And no matter what you did, you weren't a monster."

"I think there might be quite a few people that disagree with your assessment. But whatever you choose to call me, the results were the same. People died and I was responsible for those deaths." He put up his hand when Bradshaw sought to interject. "I AM responsible. I'm not so fragile that you need to sugarcoat it."

"All right. I won't."

"Allen…" Bruce warned.

"He's right, Bruce. There's no need to sugar coat the reality of the situation. It was bad. No one here is going to deny that. But no one here is assigning blame either. As a doctor you know as well as I do that taking on guilt for something that was not in your control will not resolve anything. The goal here is making you healthy. The treatment has stabilized you in a way that no one thought possible. You have a chance here for a complete recovery, a chance to lead a normal life. Do you think that it's worth fighting for?"

Jonathan looked to Bruce. A chance for a normal life. What did that even mean? There was certainly one thing he wanted… to get out of the hellhole known as Arkham Asylum.


	6. Chapter 6

Jonathan paced his ten by ten cell… his room. Yeah, right. His mind was reeling but oddly enough he couldn't say he was all that surprised. The revelation that he was a murderer was something he'd considered mere days after waking from his procedure. It didn't exactly take a genius. He'd been prepared, or so he'd thought.

No, it was more the scope that he couldn't wrap his mind around. It hadn't been an accident. It wasn't an ordinary crime of passion. His, weren't even the actions of a serial killer, at least not in the traditional sense. He was a whole new kind of freak, one that wore a mask and lived for fear and domination. There was absolutely no context in his mind for the actions of which he was found guilty.

Jonathan ran his hand through his dark hair pushing it from his face but the thick mop slid back down into his eyes rakishly. Scarecrow. That's what he had called himself, an image of fear burned into the unconscious group mind.

He smiled lightly, in truth, the Scarecrow was originally a pagan symbol of protection and fertility meant to bless the crops and keep them safe. With Christian religion, came the symbolism of the crucified man and suddenly that image became one associated with pain and suffering. It wasn't long before the former protector became the stuff of nightmares, conjuring visions of undead monsters with sharp implements stalking the unwary. Effective, if not a bit theatrical, he thought, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't attach memories to any of the information. He was the Scarecrow. What did that even mean?

His childhood was unhelpfully blank, a dark gaping maul of nothing. There were vague impressions of places and people but he had no idea who they were or how they related to him. His family was all dead according to Bradshaw. His parents had apparently died in a fire when he was twelve and he'd gone to live with his grandmother. "This is intolerable," he mumbled. Nothing. Blank, blank, blank. How was he supposed to deal with his past if he couldn't remember any of it? You couldn't just tell someone they were a mass murderer and then move on. It didn't work that way.

He stopped pacing and flopped gracelessly onto his cot. The springs protested with a shrill squeal. What was it that Bradshaw had said? Fact based memory should be intact. If he had no invested emotional attachment in the memories then he should be able to recall them. All his knowledge as a psychiatrist and scientist seemed to be available if he just thought about it… he cocked his head.

Jonathan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Start with the periodic table," he murmured. "Concentrate, it's there. It will come back to you." Symbols began to flow behind his eyes. Classifications, atomic weights, boiling points, melting points, molecular compositions, and chemical interactions with the brain, yes, there it was. His knowledge of chemistry and pharmacology, brain physiology, and the effect of compounds on… compounds.

He had created a fear toxin. That was the Scarecrow's weapon of choice. What would be the first thing you would need to do… and it all fell into place like tumblers in a safe. He gasped. The toxin. He might not remember being the Scarecrow but the knowledge of what he had done, what he could still do, was all there.

Memory or no memory, facts never lied. And the fact was, with little effort, he could create deadly compounds that were designed to deconstruct the mind and turn it into little more than a quivering mass of conflicting fears. He marveled at the horrific ingenuity in the formulas. How many hours had it taken him to create such devastation? To refine and reformulate, tailoring it to whatever response he was seeking to elicit. The more he thought about the formula the more he realized just what an expert he truly was, there were so many variations of the original toxin. It must have taken years to go through all the permutations.

Jonathan shook his head, attempting to shake the malignant information from his mind. Well, you needed to know. Now you know. This was what you wanted, he reminded himself. It was ugly and it was fascinating. How could it not be? From a psychiatric standpoint, his, was the holy grail of psychosis. From an emotional standpoint, it was a tragedy worthy of Shakespeare. No wonder Hugo Strange had been so eager to try his device on him.

But this wasn't right. He should consider his victims. Who had they been, he wondered? Were they just random innocents who were in the wrong place at the wrong time? Had there been some method to his madness? The answers would lie in his childhood trauma. Whatever had precipitated his split would have been horrific and it would have altered his personality forever. At least, until Hugo Strange and his miracle machine came to Gotham, a machine that could technically rewrite a person's psyche. He was a new man courtesy of Strange's procedure, with no alter, and more importantly no memory to traumatize his new state of mind.

He tried to recall the little information he'd managed to glean from the rec-room TV before the nurses changed the channel. He hadn't been an entirely indiscriminate killer, at least not until he'd joined forces with someone called Ra's Al Ghul. There was something personal to the Scarecrow's victims. Perhaps, he'd been reliving his childhood over and over, only this time, he was the one doling out horror. It made sense from a psychiatric standpoint. He frowned, he still needed more information.

The electronic bolt on his door jolted back into the wall startling him from his contemplation. . Jonathan was a bit surprised to note it wasn't Carl but a guard he didn't recognize, that was unusual. He schooled his features into passive anticipation. After the unpleasant revelation of his identity in Bradshaw's office, it wouldn't do for him to look distraught. He'd made it abundantly clear that there would be no more discussion about the subject until he'd had time to himself. That hadn't gone over well but after a half an hour of awkward questions met with frosty silence, Bradshaw had finally conceded with the caveat that they would pick up the discussion first thing in the morning.

"On your feet," the burly man barked.

Jonathan raised his brow. There was no pretense of civility. The man's jaw was clenched and his expression was openly hostile. This just couldn't be good. He stood quickly and smoothly. Now that he better understood the animosity directed at him, he also understood the potential danger.

His, as yet, unremembered paramour had been meticulous about his aftercare. He'd thought, at the time, Bruce was being a bit obsessive but now he understood. The man was rightly worried for his safety. There would be those that wouldn't care that he had been ill. They would only care that he had been a monster. His attendants wouldn't be changed without Bruce letting him know beforehand.

The guard pulled a set of waist cuffs from his belt. What the hell? Medium security patients were rarely restrained. He'd certainly never given the staff any reason to use restraints, at least not since he'd recovered. Why would he suddenly be subjected to such rough handling?

"Turn around," the man intoned.

Once those cuffs went on, he would be helpless. "My appointments for the day are over. Might I ask where you're taking me?"

"No. And I won't tell you again. Turn around."

What was he going to do? Acquiesce to the order and render himself helpless when something deep within him was screaming, danger!? If he refused, there would certainly be consequences. "You're not my regular chaperone. Where's Carl?"

The man chuckled unpleasantly then turned slightly, "Well you see…" he turned back unexpectedly, ramming his elbow into Jonathan's gut. Unprepared, the impact knocked the air out of him and he bent forward gasping for breath. The guard grabbed the front of his orange cover-alls. "Last chance, Freak. Turn around while I'm still feeling generous."

The guard's face was now inches from his own. Menace was pouring off the man in waves. But somehow Jonathan just couldn't find it within himself to be afraid. He knew he could feel fear and he knew now was a good time to indulge in that particular emotion but the only thing he felt was contempt. He despised bullying. It made him angry. "You might want to consider feeling more generous with the mouthwash. Your breath reeks."

The man's expression went momentarily slack as if he couldn't believe what he just heard. His reaction was unsurprising but still unpleasant as he rammed his fist into Jonathan's solar plexus. Maybe provoking the Neanderthal hadn't been such a good idea. He made up his mind. Jonathan's eyes narrowed slightly as he locked his gaze. He choked out, "I'm not… going… anywhere with you."

"Is that right?" The guard shoved hard and Jonathan stumbled back, colliding with concrete. The man followed in closely, pressing his arm across Jonathan's neck. "You and I are going somewhere private. We need to have a chat…_ Scarecrow_."

And there it was.

He knew he couldn't over power the man but brute strength wasn't required. The man had overestimated his own prowess and underestimated Jonathan. The goon pressed in tight to render him unconscious but he didn't even restrain his hands. Jonathan brought both his hands up over the guard's arm and dug his thumbs into his eyes. The man shrieked in pain as he stumbled back, blood coursing down his cheeks. Jonathan ducked around the flailing man and ran for the still open door. If there was one positive thing about his lanky physicality it was that he was agile and fast.

Once in the hall he slammed the door shut and threw the bolt. The guard had the key card but it would at least buy him extra time to try and explain himself before the other man told his side of the story. He sprinted down the hall to the double doors. Next to the panel was an emergency button. Jonathan slammed his palm onto the red button. His fingers were covered in blood.

"Shit. This isn't going to look good," he murmured. Looking through the plate glass on the door he could see staff coming down the hall on the other side. He wiped the blood on his pants legs and backed up against the wall with his hands raised. He turned as he heard the door to his cell opening.

The guard stumbled out into the hall his hand to his face. "Crane!"

Two doctors and a guard burst through the doors and things sort of went to hell from there.


End file.
